“Can we stay down here for a bit?” Alexei asks several times when we get to Weber Wiese U-Bahn station. “It’s nice and cool down here on the platform.” He’s not wrong. But we’ve an appointment to keep. With Dolores. Never good to keep her waiting. At least Alexei sent her a message to warn that we’d be 30 minutes later than originally planned.

“Andrew can you stop walking so fast and dodging between people. It’s really fucking annoying.” The sun is getting to Alexei, again. And Andrew’s habit of walking stupidly fast. There’s Andrew at the front sprinting and me at the rear snapping. It’s driving Alexei nuts. He want to keep the column united.

Dolores has nabbed the same seat that we had yesterday. They are just about perfect. I’m parched and Dolores hasn’t brought any soft drinks, as I’d expected.

“I’ll go and get some from the Vietnamese shop.” I volunteer.

It seems further than I remember. I’m getting even hotter. I feel like passing out on the way back and have to pause for a while. Though it could be due to necking that bottle of impulse Schnapps a bit too quickly.

When I return, the kids are most of the way through 40 cl of cider. Andrew is now looking better than I feel. “I see you’re feeling better again, Andrew.”

“Don’t start with that crap again, dad.”

As Schönramer is close, and has half litre glasses, I decide to go there.

“Anyone else want a beer?”

“Yes, please.” They all reply. “Half a litre.”

“Can you manage to carry them all?” Dolores asks.

“No problem, the glasses have handles. I can easily manage two in each hand.”

Which I can. Though they are quite heavy. Not sure how far I could carry them. My admiration for beer garden waitresses who can manage five litres in each fist goes up immensely. They must have strong arms.

We stick with Schönramer Pils for the next round. I’m, at heart, a very lazy person. It is very hot. And the Schönramer is pretty nice. When otherwise will I can chance to drink it? That’s how I justify it to myself.

While I’m waiting for the next round to be poured, Andreas Krennmair and his wife roll up. We’d arranged to meet somewhere around here.

I talk with Andreas about historic brewing while his wife and Dolores chat about Derry Girls. They’re both big fans.

Dolores fetches me and Alexei a sausage. Thüringers, of course. They’re still dead good. We’ve barely walked more than 20 metres from our seats today. I call that a win. I’m just sticking with the Schönramer. I’m really starting to get a taste for it. Much more so than yesterday. Sometimes you need a few pints to truly get the measure of a beer.

We don’t stay too late. It’s starting to get more crowded and rowdy.

The shopping Dolores did this morning was mostly provisions for the journey back. “What sort of beer do you want?” She asked.

“Some Bock.”

“Any particular type?”

“No, just Bock.”

Back in our room, Dolores shows me the only Bock she could find: Maisel & Friends Chocolate Bock. She can see that I’m not impressed.

“It’s the only one they had, honestly.”

I take Andrew with me and head off to Rewe to see if she’s right.

Mmm. I can find Kindl Heller and Dunkel Bock, lurking there in full view. While I’m busy with them, Andrew grabs a bottle of whiskey.

“It’s produce of the USA and Canada according to the label, dad. That sounds classy.” He takes it anyway.

Our room has a kitchen, including a decent-sized fridge. With a freezer compartment. Dolores brought some bags for making ice cubes. Very handy in this weather. I can ice my beer. Which I do. I make no apologies.

Dolores has also bought a huge pile of Berliner Pils for the kids. A couple of six packs of bottles plus some cans. I hope it’s going to be enough.

Yesterday’s leftovers are enough to feed me and the kids. Now there’s value for you. My duck is just as yummy as a day ago. Man, that place is good.

We spend the evening gazing at the sunset on the roof terrace. This time we’ve grabbed the longer seats and can lie decadently down. The day slowly slipping away. We retire to our beds at ten.

In recent years, licensing authorities have put a lot of pressure on pubs and bars to stamp out promotions that supposedly encourage irresponsible drinking, including offers of “all you can drink” for a fixed price. So I was rather surprised to see that, at next year's Manchester Beer and Cider Festival, CAMRA will be offering an inclusive all you can drink option called the MBCF Experience for £40. This will be limited to special sample glasses of, I believe, 120ml (just over 4 fl. oz). If an unlimited supply is available, there is no requirement to serve beer in officially-designated measures.
Clearly, given the very steep price and the small measures, this isn’t the same as “All you can drink for a tenner” at Porky’s Fun Pub, and it’s unlikely in practice that it will attract people who are simply setting out to drink as much as they can, or that it will lead to disorderly behaviour. But the difference is one of degree, not of principle, and it sits rather uneasily with CAMRA's External Policy 2.3, which states: “CAMRA opposes promotions that encourage excessive or speed drinking, rather than providing a discount on the price of the product and allowing the consumer to determine his/her own preferred consumption.”
The reason given for this is to allow people to sample as many different beers as possible, and it follows the practice at many craft beer festivals. However, simply because someone else is doing it doesn’t automatically make it a good idea. Indeed, at some craft festivals it is the only payment option available, which really doesn’t seem consistent with responsible drinking and offers a very poor deal to those of more limited capacity. Frankly, I’m surprised that the licensing authorities haven’t questioned this. It’s another example of how the craft beer community imagines that it operates on a higher moral plane than the thick, Carling-swilling plebs.
CAMRA is always going on about encouraging “responsible consumption in a supervised environment”, so it offers up a hostage to fortune if its critics can then come back and say “well, but you allow all-you-can-drink at your festivals.” It’s rather like Jamie Oliver running an all-you-can-eat buffet restaurant.
Presumably an offer of this kind would not be permitted under Scottish (and soon Welsh) minimum pricing, as it is theoretically possible (although highly unlikely) that the average unit price could dip below the minimum if there is no cap on consumption.
A further concern is that apparently, when beer is sold in this way, drinkers are inclined to throw away anything that isn’t to their taste and move straight on to another beer. The amount of food waste we produce is often highlighted as a problem – doesn’t this apply equally to beer waste? Although maybe the contents of the slops bucket could then be resold to the public, and no doubt some beer communicator would declare how awesome it was.
It’s also disappointing that they will be abandoning traditional British measures in favour of metric ones – what would be wrong with a quarter or a sixth of a pint?

The Berni Inn chain is fascinating for various reasons, not least because it originated here in Bristol.

This is something that only really dawned on us recently as, taking an interest in the history of Bristol pubs as we do, we kept coming across references to Berni Inns in old guidebooks and local histories:

HOLE IN THE WALL
Free House *** FQueen SquareA Berni Inn, but don’t be putt off. Just make for the back bar, The Tavern Public. Here find beautifully served Wadworth 6X (yes, in a Berni) and Worthington E in peak condition — both on handpumps. Sandwiches at reasonable prices also available. Quite small friendly bar with comfortable seats, thick carpet and jovial old locals.

Insofar as we were much aware of Berni Inns at all, this kind of thing was not what we had imagined. For decades they were the punchline to jokes about the tackiness of aspirational lifestyles in post-war Britain, famous for bringing prawn cocktail and black forest gateau to the masses. For example, here’s a song from Victoria Wood’s 2011 musical*That Day We Sang*which hits all the familiar references:

There are no shortage of articles summarising the history of the Berni Inn chain but — this one by Bristol-based writer Eugene Byrne is good, for example. The story is also covered, with some lovely archive footage, in this 2015 edition of the BBC’s*Timeshift.
To save you a click, though, here’s a precis, based on Mr Byrne’s piece, the obituaries of Aldo and Frank Berni in the*Guardian for 17/10/1997 and 01/08/2000 respectively, and various other sources.
Frank Berni was born in Bardi near Parma in Italy in 1903. He was brought up primarily by his mother because his father was abroad in South Wales running temperance bars. When he came of age, Frank joined his father in the family business in the UK. He was soon joined by his brothers, Aldo, born 1909, and Carlo.Frank and Aldo Berni from Hotel and Catering Review, March 1968, via Facebook.In 1929, Aldo and Frank used a £300 inheritance from their mother to buy a cafe in High Street, Exeter, which was successful enough to fund expansion into Plymouth and Bristol.
During World War II Frank and Carlo were interned as ‘enemy aliens’ while Aldo, who had a British passport, was at first called up, and then assigned to Home Front work because of his poor health.
After World War II Frank and Aldo acquired Hort’s, an upmarket cocktail bar and restaurant in Bristol. Tom Jaine suggests in his obituary of Frank Berni that they might have got the money to fund this bold move from reparation payments for Blitz damage to their pre-war properties which just happened to be in the most heavily bombed cities in the West Country.Like motel entrepreneur Graham Lyon*the Bernis sensed that there were interesting things going on in America that British people, exhausted and bored by wartime austerity, might be ready to welcome.
Frank Berni visited the US in the early 1950s and came away inspired by American steak bars which made money by carefully controlling margins while maintaining the appearance of generosity and good value. He was also impressed by the consistency of chain restaurants which were capable of serving identical steak meals in identical surroundings anywhere in the US.
When meat rationing ended in Britain in 1954, they pounced, taking on The Rummer, a historic pub in central Bristol.
In a short essay for*The 60s in Bristol*(ed. James Belsey, 1989)*Mary Ackland offers some details we’ve not come across elsewhere:

The Rummer is a rabbit warren of a place with cellar bars and rooms large and small as well as a history as an inn which dates back to the 13th century. They called in a clever designer, Alex Waugh, who created several restaurants and bars under one roof and cultivated an olde worlde, lived-in, almost shabby look. No-one need feel out of place in this atmosphere! Alex Waugh made a famous remark to the Bernis when he arrived. “If you’ve got cobwebs, keep ’em. If you haven’t, I’ll make you some.” Now that was*very clever for 1955.

“The Rummer was the protoype”, she writes; “The Revolution quickly followed.” There were nine Berni Inns in Bristol by 1964, clustered around the city centre.
The Berni Inn model seemed to answer a need for accessible luxury. On the one hand, steak and wine felt sophisticated and posh British people brought up on fish’n’chips and brown ale. On the other hand, everything about The Rummer was designed to make eating out unintimidating.
For starters, the fact that they hermit-crabbed their way into pubs, retained a pub-like character, and called themselves Inns, gave people something to latch on to. (See also: gastropubs.)
Then there was what Martin Wainwright called “the crucial role played by chips as a bridge between traditional fare and the glamorous… world of sirloin and black forest gateau”.* (Even if they did call them ‘chipped potatoes’ on the menu.)
Finally, there was the simplicity of the offer as summarised by Mary Ackland:

The brothers planned down to the last detail. They were determined that every last worry about eating out would be removed… The fixed-price, limited item menu ensured that customers knew exactly how much they would be paying. The wine list was cut to just 16 names, eight red, six white and two rosé.

The limited menu wasn’t only easy for customers, it also meant that the kitchens could be run with minimal equipment by interchangeable staff using a meticulous manual.SOURCE: Ronnie Hughes/A Sense of Place.The chain went nationwide until there were 147 branches all over the country, all following the same formula. Frank and Aldo sold up to Grand Metropolitan in 1970. The chain continued to operate until the 1990s when Whitbread bought 115 Berni Inns and, deciding that the brand was effectively dead, turned half of them into Beefeaters.
Knowing a bit about the Bernification of Bristol helps makes sense of the 21st century pub scene in the city. Many of those famous, historic, potentially brilliant pubs are apparently still recovering from their long stretches as part of a food-focused chain. We don’t think we’ve ever heard anyone recommend The Rummer or The Hole in the Wall, and the Llandoger Trow, though it has its charms, is essentially the bar and breakfast lounge for a Premier Inn.
It goes without saying that we’d like to hear your memories of Berni Inns but especially the extent to which you recall them feeling like pubs, or otherwise.
Reading the descriptions of plush furniture, wooden tables, and chips with everything, we can’t help but wonder if most pubs aren’t Bernified in 2018.Main image, top: a detail from an advertisement for Berni Inns in Bristol on the back of the programme for the Bristol 600 Exhibition published in 1973.Bristol and the Berni Inns originally posted at Boak & Bailey&#039;s Beer Blog

More...
]]>Blog TrackerBlog Trackerhttp://forums.pubsgalore.co.uk/showthread.php?28200-Boak-and-Bailey-s-Beer-Blog-Bristol-and-the-Berni-InnsShut up about Barclay Perkins - Trouble at Allsopphttp://forums.pubsgalore.co.uk/showthread.php?28197-Shut-up-about-Barclay-Perkins-Trouble-at-Allsopp&goto=newpost
Mon, 13 Aug 2018 07:08:45 GMT*Visit the Shut up about Barclay Perkins site (http://barclayperkins.blogspot.com/2018/08/trouble-at-allsopp.html)*
Image:...Visit the Shut up about Barclay Perkins site

In the 1880s and 1890s many breweries were transformed from partnerships into limited companies. The rewards reaped by investors in Guinness and William McEwan made brewery flotations hugely popular. Most had little difficulty in finding eager buyers and were heavily over-susscribed.

When Allsopp, one of the largest and most successful brewers, was floated, there was no shortage of eager investors. But their dreams of riches soon turned sour.

"He [Mr. Henry R. Grenfell] then went through the balance-sheet, and compared the salient items with those of the previous statement, pointing out that the reserve now stood at £15,000, or a diminution of £10,000, the latter sum having been used last year for the purpose of paying the in terest on the preference stock in full. The undivided balance of profit and loss was £17,244, against £24,869, arising from the diminution in the profits of the business. On the credit side the business premises and goodwill figured at the same amount as last year — £2,241,758, but the freehold and lease hold houses purchased stood at £193,109, against £180,410. This included freehold and leasehold houses which had been purchased for their business, as the stockholders were aware; and they had also embarked in this item a certain sum which had been made over to them as agents by the vendors, while out of their own resources they had made sundry loans in excess of those of the previous year. The item of sundry investments stood at £106,142, against £56,000 a year previously, which was to be accounted for by the fact that they had invested £50,000 in Victoria Government Treasury bonds. They were naturally at this time of the year, before the begin ning of the buying season, obliged to have a large sum of money in hand ; and they believed they had made a good investment, upon which they could at any moment raise money. They had in cash at the banker’s and in hand £111,747. He then went through the profit and loss account, remarking that the agency expenses amounted to £90,800. This was a very heavy charge, and he would have been very glad if he could have held out any expectation that the item would show any serious diminution, but he could not do so. The most distressing figure of all was the gross profit for the year, which had been £238,954, against £264,000 a year previously."
"The Brewers' Guardian 1892", 1892, pages 243 - 244.

The figures didn't look good and shareholders were understandably pissed off. Profits were falling every year and there wasn't enough money to pay a full dividend.

Mr. Grenfell tried to explai away the bad results. It doesn't sound like his audience was very convinced.

"Some of the causes of the falling off in their business had really nothing whatever to do with the company. It had been the practice at their meetings, on the part of some of the proprietors, to argue that the falling off in the profits was wholly due to the inception of the company, and the mode in which it was floated. (A SHAREHOLDER : “And bad management.") He, however, considered that the decline in the business was attributable to far more general causes. An immense amount of capital throughout the country had thus been diverted into the brewing trade, rendering it necessary — either by competition, tied houses, or other measures — to seek a revenue for those who had so invested their capital. Their own company had depended entirely for its profits upon free trade and not upon tied houses, and the necessity of acquiring tied house was not contemplated when the company was formed, and it had been one of the causes of their disasters. As he had explained, they had had to divert some of their own means into this channel, and to secure lease hold and freehold premises, and the old vendors had come to the assistance of the company for the purpose of increasing the amount so invested."
"The Brewers' Guardian 1892", 1892, page 244.

Allsopp had been slow to acquire a tied estate, as had fellow Burton brewer Bass. But Bass was much more successful at getting its beer into rivals' pubs. The rush to by pubs was a by-product, as stated above, of brewery flotations. It left the new companies with bundles of cash. Which most used to buy up pubs, grossly inflating their prices.

The article following this one in The Brewers' Guardian gives an indication of the crazy prices:

"ON the 1st ult. Mr. F. G. Huggins offered for sale, at the Royal Hotel, Derby, the “Thorntree” Inn, an old licensed house in Tenant-street, Derby. There was a large attendance, and after a spirited competition the property was sold to Mr. Eadie, brewer, of Burton-on-Trent, for £3,710.
"The Brewers' Guardian 1892", 1892, page 244.

To put that into context, a pint of Mild cost 2d. And a brewery sold a barrel of basic Mild for around £1.50. You'd need to sell the pub several thousand barrels to get any sort of return on your investment. And Allsopp entered the game late and had to pay top prices to acquire pubs.

The £193,109 Allsopp spent on buying pubs probably only got them 50 - 60 premises. Not many for a brewery of their size (they brewed over half a million barrels a year).

We’re now into the semi-finals of our Tripel-off. First up: De Dolle Dulle Teve vs. Westmalle Tripel, the reining world champ.

You might recall that this wasn’t the original match-up but Ray had a cunning plan to keep the tasting just a tiny little bit on the blind side for Jess.

He changed the line-ups without telling her.

He put Dulle Teve in a Westmalle branded glass, and Westmalle in a more generic Belgian vessel.

Both had huge, gorgeous, billowing white heads of foam. Both looked about the same colour, with Dulle Teve perhaps just a touch darker, more orange than yellow.
Our first sips were of Dulle Teve.Jess:Oh, wow.Ray:Same.Jess:That’s just a lovely beer, but… Hmm… Have you put something other than in the Westmalle glass? Are you playing mindgames?Ray:Yes, busted. That didn’t take you long to work out. It is great, though. It’s lovely. I would describe my reaction as swooning.Jess:[Westmalle] has a much better aroma, though. Fresh and flowery. This one [Dulle Teve] smells fruity but much more restrained.Ray:[Westmalle] is more elegant and lighter bodied. A classier beer. But.. Is there a sort of savouriness at the end?Jess:I’m detecting a burn. Too much of a burn. It seems very boozy.Ray:[Dulle Teve] seems almost tropically fruity. Again, great. Such wow factor.Jess:Funny thing is, the more I drink, the better the first one [Westmalle] tastes. It reminds me of Duvel. Boozy, but also very drinkable. I think… I think I prefer it, on balance, but only just.
Drinking these two beers together was really interesting as each did strange things to our perception of the other (compare with our first-round tasting notes here and here) and both seemed to morph further into different beers in the time it took to drink them. If beer-and-beer pairing was a thing, this is a combo we’d recommend.
Deciding a winner really was difficult. In the end, though, we both agreed that by the narrowest of margins Westmalle had the edge.
That means, much as we expected from the start, it will be in the final, facing off against either Lost & Grounded or Karmeliet.We’d like to thank Patreon supporters like Darryl Chamberlain and Bryan Robson whose support paid for the beer and access to the nice font in the header image.Tripel-off, Semi-Final Game 1: Westmalle vs. De Dolle originally posted at Boak & Bailey&#039;s Beer Blog

More...
]]>Blog TrackerBlog Trackerhttp://forums.pubsgalore.co.uk/showthread.php?28196-Boak-and-Bailey-s-Beer-Blog-Tripel-off-Semi-Final-Game-1-Westmalle-vs-De-DolleShut up about Barclay Perkins - Berlin day three (part one)http://forums.pubsgalore.co.uk/showthread.php?28190-Shut-up-about-Barclay-Perkins-Berlin-day-three-(part-one)&goto=newpost
Sun, 12 Aug 2018 07:12:40 GMT*Visit the Shut up about Barclay Perkins site (http://barclayperkins.blogspot.com/2018/08/berlin-day-three-part-one.html)*
It’s another hot night....Visit the Shut up about Barclay Perkins site

It’s another hot night. Though I’m well enough anaesthetised not to notice. Dolores not so much.

She wakes me with a cup of tea. Well, not literally, She doesn’t throw it over me. She puts it on my bedside table and says; “Good morning, Ronald.” It’s a very civilised way to start the day.

I can’t smell any bacon as I enter the breakfast room. That’s always depressing. It’s confirmed when I lift the lid on the warm food: scrambled egg, meatballs and little sausages. I can’t see the disappointment on Alexei’s face. But he manages to hold back the tears.

It’s the same as yesterday. Warm stuff for me, all sorts of bits and bobs for Dolores, warm then fruit for Alexei, glass of apple juice for Andrew.

We’re squeezing in another museum this morning. Well, me and the kids are. Dolores is doing some shopping while we hit the Deutsches Historisches Museum. Which is in the centre of town.

It’s simple enough to get there: U-Bahn to Alexanderplatz then one stop on the S-Bahn to Häckisches Markt. Plus a bit of walking.

The U-Bahn is bearable. But the S-Bahn boiling. Just one stop and we’re broiled. Worse is to come. It’s not a long walk, but much is totally exposed to the sun. We almost finish our supply of drinks in a couple of hundred metres.

“I wouldn’t fancy that job today.” Alexei says, pointing at two men in Mickey Mouse suits. There must be rivers of sweat flowing inside. I wonder how they clean the suits?

We’ve been here before. It’s a really fascinating museum, if you’re into history, which me and both the kids are. Alexei is mostly interested in the weapons. While I like staring at the maps. Not sure what most attracts Andrew’s attention.

We’ve only just about reached WW I, when it’s time to leave. On reflection, maybe we should have skimmed the Middle Ages more. We’re meeting Dolores at the festival at one. And it’s twenty to one now.

The walk to the S-Bahn is even less fun than on the way out. But, as I took no photos on the way in, I need to get a few now.

“Dad, don’t stop to take stupid photos.”

“But, Lexie, I . . .

“. . . need them for your blog. I know. Just hurry up.”

I can’t pass up the chance of snapping the Schloss Palast. Which is nearly finished. A pity that stupid Humboldt box plonked in front of it totally ruins the view of one side. I hope they aren’t going to leave that pile of crap there.

On the platform, we struggle with the ticket machine. It won’t accept my bank pass.

“It must be broken. Try mine.” Andrew suggests. His doesn’t work, either. We try to use a note, but now it’s expecting a card. We have to cancel and go through the whole process again. Great fun in this heat.

Andrew looks like he’s about to faint again. It is uncomfortably hot. I don’t feel that great myself, to be honest.

A few years ago, I wrote a piece about the State Management Scheme in Carlisle and the surrounding areas, which was introduced in 1916 at the height of the First World War as a means of curbing excessive alcohol consumption amongst munitions workers in the area, and ended up enduring until 1971. During the inter-war period, the scheme’s architect, Harry Redfern, was responsible for remodelling a number of existing pubs and building entirely new ones, following the “improved” model of pub design which sought to reduce “perpendicular drinking” and encourage a more civilised and female-friendly atmosphere. These pubs were widely regarded as outstanding examples of enlightened pub design, and the scheme merited an entire chapter, together with numerous floor plans, in Basil Oliver’s Book The Renaissance of the English Public House, which was published in 1947.
Obviously times and fashions have changed, and in Carlisle as everywhere else the traditional intimate, compartmentalised interior layouts have largely been swept away by drastic knocking-through. I recently spent a few days in the city, so thought it would be interesting to take a look at what remained of what were once considered model pubs.
The twin towers of the Citadel immediately outside the station mark a dramatic contrast in Carlisle city centre. To the north, where the main shops are, it’s a dignified, genteel county town, but to the south, along Botchergate, it’s a garish, youth-oriented fun strip. Indeed, such is the level of revelry that Botchergate is closed to traffic on Friday and Saturday nights. Remember that Carlisle is sixty miles from the nearest big city, so if you’re going to have a night out, you’ll be doing it locally.
Rather marooned on Botchergate between the city’s two Wetherspoons is the Cumberland Inn (illustrated above), of which CAMRA’s heritage pub site says “Built 1929-30 to designs by Harry Redfern, this is the least altered of the Carlisle & District State Management Scheme pubs.” It has a narrow, dignified but rather austere Tudor-Gothic frontage in stone, which widens out further back. While some internal walls have been removed, it retains extensive wood panelling and a number of distinct areas which still give much of a flavour of how it once would have been. Apparently the two upstairs rooms, which are now occupied by a separate restaurant business, are even less spoilt.
However, the drawback is that its actual pub offer is pretty dismal. On the beer front, it has nothing but a selection of mainstream kegs, while various dubious entertainments such as karaoke and discos are provided. Maybe that’s what the location demands, but it seems completely out of keeping with the surroundings. I couldn’t help thinking that it would do much better, and be more true to its origins, as a Sam Smith’s pub. I had my annual half of Guinness, which reminded me that the promise is always better than the reality.
North of the Citadel on Lowther Street in the more sedate part of the city centre is the Howard Arms. This is a Victorian pub with a distinctive tiled frontage that was internally remodelled under State Management ownership. Some opening out has occurred, but it still has distinct lounge and public sides and a variety of areas surrounding the central servery. It also has that vanishing species – a jukebox. There were two cask beers on, one of which was a pretty decent drop of Theakston’s Best Bitter. It can’t be said that Carlisle is one of Britain’s great pub towns, but the Howard Arms is one of the most congenial in the central area.
The last pre-war pub to be built by the State Management Scheme was the Redfern Inn, named in Harry Redfern’s honour but actually designed by his deputy Joseph Seddon, which actually did not open until 1940. It stands in the suburb of Etterby, a mixed residential area about a mile and a half from the city centre on the north bank of the River Eden. It’s a long, low, brick-and-timber building in an Arts and Crafts style that wouldn’t look out of place in the Weald of Kent.
The interior layout, with extensive wood panelling, looks pretty traditional, but in fact a comparison with the plan in Basil Oliver’s book shows that the counter has been greatly extended on the public side, while on the lounge side the two rooms have been amalgamated and a new serving counter added. The pub originally featured a bowling green at the rear, but this has been out of use for some years and is now slated for redevelopment as housing, although as yet this hasn’t actually happened. It’s another pub where the offer doesn’t really match up to the surroundings, being just an ordinary, slightly down-at-heel local where the only cask beer available was, slightly bizarrely, a rather past-its-best drop of Brakspear Bitter.
Another pub with a bowling green is the Magpie in Botcherby on the eastern side of the city. This is in an inter-wars council estate and fits more into the mould of “estate pub” with a distinctive white-rendered design with prominent gables. It has experienced something of a chequered history, falling into the hands of Oakwell Brewery and then being closed for period before being bought and brought back to life by Sam Smith’s, who also, to their great credit, have restored the bowling green to use.
The interior layout seems little changed from the plan in the book, with the only significant alteration being replacing the off-sales area with a passage through from the public bar to the “smoking room”. Indeed, this room and the adjoining “tea room”, with the ladies’ and gents’ toilets on either side of the entrance porch, seem largely intact, so it’s a surprise to see that the pub doesn’t even feature as a regional entry on CAMRA’s National Inventory. Like many Sam’s pubs now, it has no real ale, but their keg range is much more appetising than that in a pub like the Cumberland Inn, and my OBB was decent enough.
While their original interiors may have been swept away by modernisation, there remain many architectural reminders of the State Management Scheme. For example, just a few doors down from the Howard Arms on Lowther Street is the rather grand Apple Tree, while on the main road north to Scotland is the Coach & Horses, which has appeared in several past Good Beer Guides. The scope of the scheme extended a fair distance beyond Carlisle itself, and you can still see examples of distinctive SMS architecture in places such as Gretna, where the round-arched doorway of the Hunter’s Lodge is a distinctive Redfern feature.
It’s a shame that so few pub interiors remain to remind us of this unique episode in the history of the British pub trade, but sadly wholesale internal destruction has been general across the whole country. Meanwhile, we should celebrate what is left, and in particular the Redfern Inn deserves to be cherished as a memorial to the work of the great pub architect.
Incidentally, while I was in Carlisle, I took a look inside the giant ASDA on the north side of the city next to Junction 44 of the M6, but didn’t see any specific signs of catering for booze tourists from north of the border following the introduction of minimum pricing. This convenience store and off-licence in a prominent position in the centre of Dumfries had closed, but far be it from me to draw a connection between the two.

More...
]]>Blog TrackerBlog Trackerhttp://forums.pubsgalore.co.uk/showthread.php?28185-The-Pub-Curmudgeon-State-of-decayhttp://forums.pubsgalore.co.uk/showthread.php?28184-Shut-up-about-Barclay-Perkins-Let-s-Brew-1948-Lees-“C”-Ale&goto=newpost
Sat, 11 Aug 2018 07:37:33 GMT*Visit the Shut up about Barclay Perkins site (http://barclayperkins.blogspot.com/2018/08/lets-brew-1948-lees-c-ale.html)*
Image:...Visit the Shut up about Barclay Perkins site

There a good geographical spread of the breweries featured in the recipe section of my new book. Scotland, the North, London, the Midlands, East Anglia and the West Country, to name a few. Lees is one of three breweries from the Northwest.

I was so delighted when I came across this beer in the Lees records. Finally, I’d find out for certain what a “C” Ale was.

It must have been 10 years ago when I first stumbled across a reference to “C” Ale in the history of a Manchester brewery. What the hell was it and why did it have that name? It turned out that several breweries in the Manchester area brewed one at one time or another. It was obviously some sort of strong bottled beer. But as to what the name signifies, I’ve no idea.

Stylistically, it’s much like a London Burton Ale, just bottled rather than draught.

The grist is surprisingly similar to Lees Bitter from the same year. Except here there’s some crystal malt and rather more black malt. I’ve had to do some interpretation on the sugars, which are listed as simply Invert and CWA. No. 2 invert is my choice.

The hops are rather vaguely described in the log. I just know that they were English and from the 1947 crop.

The initial mashing heat of 150º F was raised to 152º F by an underlet.

Here’s all the beer and pub related news, opinion and history that’s grabbed us in the past week, from kids in pubs to Never Gonna Give You Up.

First, money. As part of the publicity around its Great British Beer Festival (last day today) the Campaign for Real Ale published the results of a survey suggesting that the majority of British drinkers who expressed an opinion find the price of a pint of beer unaffordable.
There were various bits of interesting commentary around this, from musings on the question of value from*Katie Taylor…

Affordability is quite an abstract concept, isn’t it? In my experience as someone who’s lived in extreme poverty and in relative comfort and all the incremental stages of debt, exhaustion and erratic spending in-between, things like pints come down to how much you value them. They’re not essential – unless you have an addiction – and yet as part of our culture they’re a central point of our social lives.

I think there are many who are making the choice between going out for a pint and other things… Simple choices like; Sunday afternoon at the local pub with the family or a full day out at the beach with sandwiches and maybe an ice cream and a few bob on the amusements. I reckon it’s about 50 miles from our house to Scarbro’, so the biggest cost of the day is fuel… Round here, the price of the first round of say, a pint, glass of prosecco, three soft drinks and a few snacks would just about cover the fuel costs of a return journey to the seaside. The second round would more than pay for the picnic and sundries and we’ve only been in the pub for about an hour, max.

Perhaps the greatest step CAMRA could take toward restoring growth in cask beer would be to invest in training and equipment for pubs that show loyalty to cask and price it fairly. For some reason, this call for quality brewing falls on deaf ears at CAMRA, who*this week lamented how expensive pints have become. The party line of championing cask above all else appears to include the millions of cheap, dull, vinegary pints poured across the UK each year. Some of them even at their own festivals.

In Adams’s childhood home, a hand-carved wooden cup with a handle and top hung above the mantelpiece. When his mother explained that the object had belonged to his great-grandfather and was a “stein,” it took on a mythical significance. “That word was so odd; it fascinated me. I started to imagine where this ‘stein’ thing came from and what kind of world it had been a part of.”

It started in July 2013, when I nominated their Pale, on cask, as my beer of the year; I didn’t think I’d taste anything better in the remaining five months of the year – and as it turned out I was right. I wrote:*The aromatic wallop of a good contemporary pale ale runs head-on into the soft herbal richness of a Tripel, and they*dance.*Which still seems about right. On cask, the Blonde was pretty amazing too – not to mention the Jasmine Green Tea Pale, the Golden Bitter, the Invalid Stout, the Marmalade Pale… On keg and in bottle, there was a really nice Dubbel, a superb Tripel, the East India Porter, the Rose Wheat, the Rhubarb Weiss, the Ginger Beer and some terrific hoppy pales… the list just went on. Not to mention more or less experimental styles – Munchner, Grodziskie, Mumme – and dotty one-offs like Marmite Stout or Tea and Biscuits Mild.

A footnote to this, for what it’s worth: we haven’t been keeping a log of every closure this year as we did last year but, overall, our impression is that there have been*fewer*UK breweries shutting up shop in 2018.SOURCE: Yes AleDavid Holden at*Yes Ale is a young father and has been reflecting on that perennial favourite topic, children in pubs. What makes this piece worth a share of your eyeballs is that it recognises something that these pieces often miss: kids in pubs isn’t something that started happening in the past few years, it’s how most of us grew up. This is the key passage:

Saturdays and Sunday afternoons, were spent down the pub as our parents didn’t have Facebook or Myspace to socialise so you were dragged along to be bored to death or hope that another kid had brought a ball so you could play Wally… Our first local was The Bloomfield in Blackpool… In my time there, everybody knew everybody. It was my dad’s local. My mum did shifts. Fake Aunties, False Uncles, step-dads and lasting family friends all came from the epicentre that is the pub. And, EVERYBODY knew my Grampsi was the one who bent the bars on the railings outside. As you walked in, we always went through the left door. No kids in the Games Room.

We’ve been enjoying notes on Bristol from the*Beer Nut, not least because we were there for part of his research, watching him scribble in the ever-present notebook as he passed judgement on our local beer and pubs. Here’s part one, and this is part two which features our cameo.As we near the end, here’s what looks like a bit of novelty news, or even a joke, but is actually kind of a big deal for beer geeks: Danish brewing company Mikkeller is opening a bar in London in partnership with singer Rick Astley.We’ll finish with a Tweet from Geoff Quincy*(@geoffquincy) which collects together photographs of The Windsock, a famously exuberant post-war pub that we mentioned in*20th Century Pub.

More...
]]>Blog TrackerBlog Trackerhttp://forums.pubsgalore.co.uk/showthread.php?28183-Boak-and-Bailey-s-Beer-Blog-News-Nuggets-amp-Longreads-for-11-August-2018-Price-PaShut up about Barclay Perkins - Berlin day two (part two)http://forums.pubsgalore.co.uk/showthread.php?28181-Shut-up-about-Barclay-Perkins-Berlin-day-two-(part-two)&goto=newpost
Fri, 10 Aug 2018 08:49:23 GMT*Visit the Shut up about Barclay Perkins site (http://barclayperkins.blogspot.com/2018/08/berlin-day-two-part-two.html)*
“Which exit should we...Visit the Shut up about Barclay Perkins site

“Which exit should we take, Ronald”

“Er . . my guess would be to follow the fat old bloke with a festival glass hanging around his neck.” I say pointing at a fat, old bloke with a festival glass around his neck. I’m good at spotting fat, old blokes. I am, after all, one myself.

It turns out I was wrong. Our appointment is at lampposts 46 to 48. The exit plonks us at lamppost 34. I’ve given us a couple of hundred metres extra walking.

The kids don’t appreciate it.

“How much further do we have to go, dad?”

“Not far. We’ll be there in less than an hour, Alexei.”

“Very funny, dad.”

None of the people we’re meeting are to be seen between 46 and 48.

“We need some proper shade, Ronald. Not those stupid umbrellas.”

I agree with Dolores. Under a tree is the place to be. When it’s hot. Much cooler than under some crappy sunshade. Between the two appointed lampposts the shade is shit. Except for one spot. Directly behind the La Chouffe stand. Bench for eight under a tree, close to the bogs. Not that I expect to have much use for those, the rate I’m sweating at.

It’s also bang next to lamppost 48. Phew.

Once we’ve our arses parked, I trek out for beer for me and Dolores. While she gets the lads some cider. By the time I get back, their glasses are almost empty.

“I see you’re feeling better now, Andrew.”

“Shut up, dad, you insensitive twat.” The heat’s getting to everyone. The kids love me. I’m the best dad ever. Really. It’s just the heat that’s making them so nasty.

On a beer expedition, I bump into Joe Stange. He lives in Berlin and it’s a tradition for us to meet at the Biermeile. He’s a Lager fan, too. Which is why he suggested this stretch of the festival. He has a few others in tow, including some I’d planned to meet. Like that degenerate Peter Alexander. And his wife, who is perfectly charming. Also Tim Thomas, who edits Ullage, the Newbury CAMRA branch magazine.

Discussing arse-parking locations, we realise the one Dolores scouted out is better bet than theirs, in the not getting burnt to a fucking crisp stakes.

The kids seem to like their cider – Stowford Press, for the record. They’ve gobbled two 40 cl glasses down before I’ve managed 30 cl. What is going on? Just the kids making low-effort choices. Getting mum to fetch cider from the stand 10 metres away. While I’ve been roaming far and dustily in search of the more exotic. Tiring and drinking time consuming.

No wonder I don’t need a piss.

Returning from another trek to find beer the kids have two half litres of some yellow stuff in front of them. Disappointingly, most stands aren’t serving anything bigger than 40 cl.

“Where did you get that, Dolores?”

“Just over there.” She points to the Schönramer stall about 15 metres away.

He explains how the head brewer is American, but wears lederhosen to work every day. “He’s gone native, then.” I remark. He also says that it’s one of the more bitter examples.

I get myself A Schönramer Pils. It is, indeed, very nice. With a firm, spicy bitterness. I could drink a few of these. Especially in this heat.

Also handily close by – even slightly closer than Schönramer – is a sausage stall. I do like a good sausage. The Krakauer is tempting, but I have to go for the Thüringer. It is from Dolores’s home state, after all.

Excuse me if I don’t list every beer, with a photo, this year. Most of the beers look the same, because I’ve been getting them in the festival glass. And my tasting notes get worse with every year that passes.

A few ciders in and Alexei is getting bored and Dolores – I don’t know. Just ausgefestet.

“Come back to the hotel by four, Ronald. Don’t stay here too long.”

“OK, I’ll be back by six thirty,”

“Four.”

“Yes, six thirty. That’s what I’m hearing. It might not be what you’re saying, but it’s what I’m hearing.”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“Half four.”

“OK, half four. No later. You watch your dad, Andrew.”

“Yes. Mum. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

Dolores heads off, reassured.

“So, leave at six?”

“Dad,”

“Half five.”

“No.”

“Shots then?”

“Dad, no. We have to get back.”

We do have a good reason. We want to eat in a dead good Korean restaurant. Last year we had brilliant food there. But had to eat inside. An early arrival might secure one of the two outside tables. That’s why Dolores was so keen on a punctual return.

“I was only joking, Andrew.”

“Yes, dad.”

“No, honestly.”

“Let’s leave, then.”

I am really joking. No way I want to sit inside in this effing heat. Though the food might be worth it. Really ace, it is. I’m prepared to suffer for it.

Dolores looks relieved when we trumble up at about the appointed hour. Which is slightly depressing. Like she was expecting to be disappointed. Both at my turning up and ability to walk unaided.

“Time for a pre-prandial beer?”

“No. Ronald. I’m not risking missing a seat outside.”

She has a point. And the restaurant is licensed. Yummy food here we come.

Just as we arrive, one of the outside tables is vacated. Happy days. We rapidly park our arses and goggle at the menu. Not long. But with some really tasty stuff. I get duck. Dolores the squid. The kids share a barbecue.

Dead good, great value – my meal is around 8 euros and more than I could eat. No way I’m going to waste it. I have the remainders packaged up. That’ll do for tomorrow’s tea.

The day closes with more beers on the roof. With sunset settling slowly in the distance, we sip on our beers and forget just how shit the world is currently. For a moment.

When a colleague of mine told me that her father had been head brewer at Guinness’s London brewery and wondered if I might be interested in seeing his papers, I got a bit excited.

Finally, months later, we got round to visiting to check out what was in her collection. Based on a quick audit the answer is: everything.
We’ve agreed to take possession of the whole lot, catalogue it, copy bits we might be able to use for our own research, and then help with arrangements to have the important bits taken into appropriate archives.
For now, though, here’s a nugget from the handful of documents we brought away with us on Wednesday night: insider info on how Guinness gained its once legendary complexity at the blending stage.
This comes from a typed document in a plain brown wrapper written in 1939 and updated to take account of wartime brewing restriction. The copy we have seems to come from around 1943 but was in apparently still in circulation in the 1950s.
The first page bears the title ‘The Process of Brewing Guinness’ and the 46 pages that follow offer detailed notes on the basics of beer making (how hops are dried, for example) as well as specifics about Guinness.
Here’s the section on ‘Making Up’:

Beer in storage vats [after fermentation] is quite flat and is cloudy and bitter and uninteresting to taste. Before it is ready for sale it must be ‘Made up’… Beer from say six different brews forms the basis. These are chosen in such proportions that when mixed with unfermented beer (i.e. wort that has been pitched but not allowed to ferment) known as gyle, their residues added to the fermentable matter of the gyle will give a suitable ‘Prime’. ‘Prime’ is the fermentable matter in beer after making up just as ‘Residue’ is the fermentable matter as the beer enters the storage vat. It is measured as the difference between the present gravity of the beer and its perfect primary.
In addition to these beers there are added:–

Barm beer: this is the beer which is skimmed off from the skimmers with the yeast and is separated from the yeast in a filter press. It is intensely bitter but adds very materially to the flavour of the flat, uninteresting storage vat beer.

O.B.S.: old beer storage is old acid beer that, like barm beer, improves the flavour of the finished beer although it is itself very unpleasant.

Drawing: these are residues of made up beer which was not bright enough to put into the trade without further treatment. It is exactly similar in composition to made up beer.

Finings: this is a solution of isinglass in storage vat beer. Only minute traces of isinglass are required but it brings about the very rapid sedimentation of all the floating particles which make the beer cloudy.

All the constituents of the make up are pumped into a ‘Racking Vat’ together and there allowed to stand for 24-48 hours.

The ‘free advertising’ side of beer blogging has never sat well with me (although I’ve taken, and written about, the odd freebie over the years). I often catch myself writing about having a particularly nice pint of Scruttock’s Best down at the Pig and Whistle, and think, is that the stylishly-refurbished Pig and Whistle with […]

More...
]]>Blog TrackerBlog Trackerhttp://forums.pubsgalore.co.uk/showthread.php?28178-Oh-Good-Ale-Goodbye-TicketyBrewShut up about Barclay Perkins - Berlin day two (part one)http://forums.pubsgalore.co.uk/showthread.php?28177-Shut-up-about-Barclay-Perkins-Berlin-day-two-(part-one)&goto=newpost
Thu, 09 Aug 2018 07:10:33 GMT*Visit the Shut up about Barclay Perkins site (http://barclayperkins.blogspot.com/2018/08/berlin-day-two-part-one.html)*
Brekkie is included and...Visit the Shut up about Barclay Perkins site

Brekkie is included and we duly trundle down to the breakfast room around nine.

It’s been a hot night. Even with two fans and windows wide open. Dolores hasn’t had the best night’s sleep. While I had just enough beer inside me to slump into unconsciousness despite the heat.

What’s that smell? Is it what I think it is? The happy morning smell? Yes it is: there’s bacon. Me and Alexei immediately get stuck into it. And the scrambled egg and meatballs. Dolores goes for a health food breakfast, with fruit and stuff. Though there is cake and jam, too. Andrew just stares glumly at a cup of coffee. He isn’t much of a morning person.

Despite most guests being middle-aged or older, there are plenty of dodgy tattoos on display.

“You should get a tattoo, Dolores.”

“No way. They look awful.”

“But don’t you want to look young and trendy?”

“No.”

“Is that a maybe.”

“No.”

Dolores is a woman of few words, at times.

Having limited time this trip, our schedule is rather full. We’re meeting people at the beer festival around noon, but before that intend fitting in a visit to the Stasi museum, which isn’t far away.

As it’s already pretty hot, we take the U-Bahn. It’s only three stops.

The museum is located in one building of the former terrain of the MfS (Ministerium für Staatssicherheit). The complex is enormous, at least a couple of dozen different buildings. Each of which housed different department. They were clearly very keen on state security.

The museum is in the headquarters building, where the minister and the top officials had their offices.

“It’s all a bit tatty looking.” I remark to Dolores after looking around the minister’s office suite.

“I know. Did you see the room where he slept? Not very fancy at all. Though he did have a tiled bathroom. No-one in the DDR had that.

The “posh” rooms all have the cheap wood panelling I’ve seen in other official communist buildings. It hasn’t aged well. It looks like they never renovated the building after its initial construction in the late 1950s. Considering this was where one of the most important people in the country worked, it’s pretty grotty.

It’s hot inside. As well as the crappy décor, they obviously couldn’t afford airco. There’s occasional relief by an open window.

The heat is getting to be too much for Andrew. He’s looking even whiter than usual. So like a whither shade of milk. We worry that he’s getting heatstroke and sit him down. While Dolores makes sure he doesn’t pass out, Alexei and I continue through the museum.

He’s dead impressed by all the hidden cameras. And the guns, obviously. Though there aren’t many of those. From the 1960s on the Stasi went in for psychological rather than physical violence.

The sheer number of people who worked for them as “unofficial agents” is staggering. Which has me wondering how many people I met who were in their employ. Statistically, it must have been at least half a dozen. Probably more. Just as well I kept going on about peace and socialism, however much eye-rolling it caused in Dolores.

The gadget section includes apparatus for opening letters. I wonder which one they used for my correspondence with Dolores? I know for certain that they opened at least some, because there were photocopies of some in Dolores’s Stasi file.

“I always assumed all our letters were being read and was very careful about what I wrote. Not too much praise for Stalin. It’s a bit like the internet, Lexie. Nothing is private.”

“Yes, dad. You keep saying that.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

A passing stranger gave Andrew a bottle of coke and it seems to have perked him up. That and sitting outside in the fresh – if warm – air. But we can’t hang around recuperating. We’ve a beer festival to go to. And we’re already late.